


Loaf of my life

by Howlriffic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Puns, Baking, Crack, Everyone is happy and alive (although they aren't mentioned lmao), Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, mary berry cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9449504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlriffic/pseuds/Howlriffic
Summary: A Very Unseasonal Christmas AU.Alternatively, Derek makes bread puns when he’s stressed. Neither Derek nor Stiles acknowledges this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my fantastic, amazing, patient, gorgeous [beta](https://wheretheprettythingslive.tumblr.com) as a very belated birthday fic because I'm trash. Believe it or not, this fic wasn't started in the Christmas season, but only in the new year :P I hope you like bad puns and fluff as much as I do, and if you do, kudos/ comment :) please tell me if you spot errors, because it was unbeta-ed hahaha
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://www.howlriffic.tumblr.com)

It’s that time of year again. While people everywhere are preparing for the holidays by decorating their houses and going Christmas tree shopping with loved ones, Derek braces himself for the proverbial battle he’s about to face: the neighbourhood’s annual Christmas bakeoff.

For the last two years, the title of Best Christmas Baker, and the obnoxious life-sized fruitcake-on-a-pedestal trophy that comes with it, has belonged to the Derek, and he’s not about to let that change. This year, there’s only one baker who poses any real threat: one Kate Argent, his neighbour from across the street.

Kate’s known throughout their little estate for her beautifully iced biscuits and delicate pavlova – if there’s one thing she excels at, it’s attention to detail. When Stiles and Derek had first moved in, she’d brought over a plate of intricately iced, fall-themed butter cookies that could only be described as _fergalicious_. Derek had had his fair share of them, of course, but the expression on his face had bordered on mutinous with every bite.

Derek’s niche, on the other hand, is breads and pies. There’s nary a type of bread or pie Stiles hasn’t tried in the time he’s been living with Derek, and their little kitchen perpetually smells of freshly baked bread. Stiles likes to joke that they don’t even have buy scented candles because Derek’s baking always makes their house smell like a home.

In Stiles’ humble opinion, the whole hullabaloo about the competition is rather silly and made overdramatic by passionate home-bakers, but who is he to judge his adorably flour-dusted boyfriend?

Said boyfriend is currently wrist-deep in bread dough with the sleeves of his forest-green Henley neatly rolled up to his elbows, as he carefully works the dough to makes sure it’s the right consistency. Stiles, ever the helpful boyfriend, sits on the countertop munching on little spoonfuls of raisins and candied peel soaked in rum and spices.

He lifts his spoon imperiously in Derek’s direction.

“Der-bear, what’s this type of bread called again?”

“It’s called a Stollen, it’s a type of German Christmas bread,” Derek replies, huffing a little. Kneading bread by hand is hard work.

Stiles taps the spoon against his lip.

“Why don’t you just use the bread hook on your freakishly overpriced mixer?”

Derek stops kneading, shooting Stiles a look like _how are we dating?_

“It’s not the same, Stiles. The finished product has a better texture, and the glutens are more well developed-“

Stiles tunes out a little, at this point. It’s really too early in the day to consider _glutens_. He just nods along, and passes Derek the ingredients he asks for – _goodbye, fruit,_ he thinks, a little wistfully, as that’s passed along too.

Before long, a fragrant, fruit-speckled loaf is ready to go into the oven, and both Stiles and Derek remain in the kitchen in companionable silence as Derek keeps track of the baking and Stiles catches up on his readings.

When it’s finally done, Derek pulls the piping hot Stollen from the oven, brushes on melted butter and dusts on powdered sugar, before wrapping it up tightly and popping it into the little breadbox that sits on their kitchen counter.

\---

Just three days before the baking contest, Stiles and Derek are at the local store to pick up some last-minute provisions when they run into Kate on her way out, arms laden with grocery bags.

When she catches sight of them, she speed-walks towards the exit, crossing paths with them, before she does a sort of dramatic hair flick and looks at them over her shoulder.

Stiles sputters a little.

“Why- why would you not just _wave_ , like a regular person-”

“I’d watch my back if I were you, sweetie,” she interrupts, as if Stiles hadn’t spoken. “Or watch my _bread_ , as it were, because it might not be where you left it last,”

On that cryptic note, she flounces out the doors, smiling in a nasty sort of way.

Derek and Stiles share a look. Around them, the shoppers continue to mill about.

“Do you think anyone else noticed-”

“Nah.”

\---

On their way home, in Derek’s Toyota _(it’s not a suburban soccer mum car, Stiles),_ Stiles turns to Derek.

“Hey, you know Kate’s just messing with you, right? Your Stollen’s still going to be in the kitchen when we get back,” he says.

“Don’t worry,” Derek replies, “I’m not going to let her half-baked intimidation tactics work on me.”

However, after they had gotten home and into bed later that evening, Stiles could tell that Derek was itching to check if the Stollen was, in fact, where he’d left it.

“The bread’s been baked, all we have to do now is loaf around, right?” Derek says, a little nervously, making abortive motions to get up from their bed.

“If it’ll give you peace of mind, just duck into the kitchen and take a peek,” Stiles says, exasperated. Derek hums in response, nipping out the bedroom door.

Within a short few minutes, he’s back, and Stiles welcomes him into a warm embrace as they settle down to sleep.

\---

“Did- Stiles, did you hear that?” comes Derek’s shouting whisper.

“Wha-?” Stiles replies eloquently, squinting at the digital clock by their bedside. It’s just past two in the morning.

Just then, there’s what sounds like a crash from the kitchen downstairs, and Derek and Stiles sit up, suddenly alert. They hurry down to the kitchen, and Derek notices the little door to the breadbox is ajar. Crossing the kitchen quickly, he yanks it open and-

“It’s gone,” he says, sounding bewildered.

But something seems out of place. Stiles squints at the open window. Snow is beginning to blow into their kitchen.

“Derek, the window’s open, did you forget to shut it before we went to bed?”

“That’s the yeast of my problems,” says Derek, a little snappishly, “Rye are you so calm? Where on earth’s my Stollen gone?”

That’s when Stiles notices someone dashing across their yard, dancing around their flowerbed before prancing over the little hedge that separates their lawn from the sidewalk. Under the beanie jammed on the figure’s head, the flash of blonde hair looks awfully familiar.

“It’s Kate! She’s stolen the Stollen!” Stiles yells, scrambling out the window in his haste to catch up to her. He lands on a snow bank beneath the window with a little _oof_ before he picks himself up, and gives chase.

Stiles follows the figure as far as he can, slipping and sliding on the icy ground, but loses sight of her after she vanishes into the thicket that borders the end of the street.

\---

He walks dejectedly back their house, shivering a little now that the adrenaline’s worn off. He walks up to Derek, who’s now standing at their open front door and looking forlornly in the direction of the Stollen’s disappearance.

“Sorry I couldn’t catch Kate, Derek,” he begins, before noticing that Derek isn’t really looking at him, he’s looking across the street. Where the same hooded figure – Kate – is now quietly using a key to open the main door to the house.

Stiles presses his lips together in a thin line, and storms indignantly across the street, although the snow muting his footfalls spoils the effect somewhat.

He gets as far as her now-shut front door before he hears soft breaths behind him, and Derek stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Babe, you forgot your coat,” says Derek easily, spinning Stiles around so he can help him get his arms into the fitting jacket. “And I know your fingers get really cold, so I brought those mittens you like, too,” he continues, rubbing each of Stiles’ hands between his palms before pulling the striped mittens over them.

“Now,” Derek says, walking up the stoop, “Allow me.”

He rings the doorbell once, and although they both clearly hear the _be right out!_ shouted from inside, he continues to press the little buzzer vindictively until the door is thrown open and a disheveled-looking Kate is glaring daggers at them.

“ _What?_ ” she snarls.

“Return my bread,” Derek says, bluntly, “or you’re toast.”

“Excuse me? You come over here in the dead of night, to _accuse_ me of-“

“Uh, Kate,” Stiles interjects. “You’re- you’re still wearing your beanie. And your boots.”

Kate looks down at her feet at the same time as she reaches up to feel that her traitorous beanie is, indeed, still on her head, before she deflates a little, and sighs.

“Do you boys want to come in for a hot drink?” she says instead.

\---

“-and I felt like my baking skills were stagnating, you know? It’s just been so difficult since I became a housewife, it’s like I’ve lost my identity,” Kate blubbers, dabbing at her face with a tissue.

Derek, sitting across the table, stoically passes her another. He nods sympathetically, eyes shining with emotion.

Stiles has lost track of time. The sun is beginning to stream through the windows.

“I think that’s a problem you and Jeremiah have to face together,” Derek says, pouring her a fresh cup of tea, “I’ve heard relationship counseling works wonders.”

Stiles eyes dart desperately around the kitchen, searching for an escape route – or a _clock_. He wishes that the Stollen on the table between them were unwrapped, so he could do something more entertaining, like count the number of raisins on its surface.

It’s a long conversation and several exchanged hugs later before Kate starts, seeming to notice that it’s daytime again.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry to have kept you both for so long,” she exclaims, brushing strands of hair that have come loose from her bun away from her face.

“Here, take this,” she says, pushing the Stollen into Derek’s arms.

“And this,” A jar of cookies.

“And this,” A tin of tea.

By the time they get around to leaving, Stiles has to help Derek carry some of the things Kate has given them as they make their way back to their place.

Back in the safety of their kitchen, Stiles turns to Derek.

“Why were you being so nice to her?” he asks, a little curious.

“Didn’t you notice, Stiles? She has no other friends on this street. Naan at all. That can’t be easy on anyone. I’m willing to overlook what she did if it was in a moment of bad judgment – my mum taught me to see the best in everyone, you know?”

Stiles feels a little twinge in his chest, and smiles softly.

“I love you so much, you giant softy,” he sighs, reaching over to smooth the little frown line that’s appeared between his boyfriend’s brows.

\---

On Christmas eve, the day of the competition, Derek clasps Stiles’ hand nervously as he watches the judge, a little old lady with snow-white hair, sample a slice of his neatly sliced Stollen. Across the room, Kate, standing beside her less traditional (albeit festively decorated) Black Forest gâteau, gives him a thumbs-up.

Before long, the judging has come to an end.

“There were many impressive breads and pastries presented today,” the judge begins, gaze lingering on Kate. “But this year, the one item that really blew me away was well thought-out and executed in both flavor and appearance – and that was this beautifully made Stollen here. Will the baker responsible please step forward?”

Derek walks up to the elderly judge, the apples of his cheeks ruddy with happiness as he smiles bashfully. As the room breaks into applause, Stiles whoops shamelessly from behind.

The rest of the day is a blur of people congratulating Derek and shaking his hand as the competitors mingle and try each other’s baked goods, and by the time Stiles and Derek make it back to their house, Stiles is ready to fall into bed and pass out.

As he walks reaches the foot of the staircase, he hears the _thump_ of Derek setting the trophy down before Derek calls out, “Stiles, hang on for minute,”

Stiles turns around, eyelids drooping, but he immediately snaps wide awake when Derek goes down on one knee, right there at the entryway of their home.

“In the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve done nothing but love and support me. You complete me, and you-” Derek stutters, voice thick with emotion. He takes a few deep breaths.

“Stiles Stilinski, you are the loaf of my life. Will you marry me?”

And Stiles can only nod as tears of happiness stream unbidden down his cheeks, and he joins Derek on the ground in a crushing hug.


End file.
